


Honeymooner's Romance

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Best Friends, Best Man Dean, But As Always Also Humor, Canada, Comfort/Angst, Comforting Dean, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Castiel/Meg Masters, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Language, Friends to Lovers, Funny Massage Scene, Grieving Castiel, Honeymoon, Honeymoon Vacation, M/M, Niagara Falls, Nudity but Not Explicit, Past Castiel/Meg Masters, Sad Castiel, Sharing a Bed, Vacation, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 14:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11149959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: "Wait… Cas, what’re you gonna do about the honeymoon?”“Shit,” Cas says, wide-eyed, “I didn’t even think about it. I mean, I can’t get a refund for the plane tickets or the hotel reservation. It’s well over the twenty-four hour policy—”“No, no, that’s perfect!” Dean exclaims.Cas tilts his head with a wary eye. “Why is that perfect?”“Because, you and I can use it."





	Honeymooner's Romance

**Author's Note:**

> Found on onetruepairingideas.tumblr.com from a post with a bunch of wedding au ideas because I’m a sap: “my bride/groom ditched me at the alter, but fuck them i’m taking this honeymoon anyway”
> 
> Hi! So I've been writing a lot longer fics lately, but you guys seem to enjoy my writing enough to want more, so I suppose these lengthier one-shots must be Heaven. And to that I say, *Gavin MacLeod voice* "You must be angels!" Because I love love love you guys, thank you for supporting me and my works. You mean more to me than you can imagine. <3
> 
> Also, a quick disclaimer: I've never been to Canada, this is just me living vicariously through our boys. xD
> 
> Now, enjoy!

 

It’s hard to believe Dean’s at a wedding as an attendee. Or, scratch that: As a _fully-functioning_ attendee.

And _was_ at a wedding as a fully-functioning attendee.

He’s been to a handful of weddings in his life: His good friend Benny’s to his fiancée Andrea, his friend and LARP Queen to his handmaiden Charlie’s to her fiancée Gilda, his friend Crowley and his mistress—yes, you read that right—Naomi (who are newly and happily _divorced_ , according to the celebration cards mailed to his address last week), his ex-girlfriend Lisa to her kind of stupidly handsome husband Matt. Not to mention, he nearly had to attend a fifth in _court_ when Sam, his little brother and author by trade, was mailed a wedding certificate made out to him and his stalker Becky Rosen, who dated his publisher just months before.

For most of them, he’s usually skirted off to the bar. Not that he’s an alcoholic or anything, but because weddings just aren’t his thing. Aside from Charlie and Gilda’s big medieval-themed bridal, when no one is putting the bride’s strength of character to the test with an 80 centimeter hilt, it starts to get redundant, however good the chicken entrée actually is.

But tonight… tonight might top any wedding he’s ever been to. He’s been best man twice, and while that’s quite the honor to bear, it’s nothing when the groom, his best friend, is crying in the pews of the church.

“Fuck her, man,” says Dean, “fuck her.”

With the way his shoulders are slumped and his hands are buried in the mess of his dark brown hair, Cas isn’t not up for much of anything at the moment except maybe a stiff drink poured over a large tub of Ben & Jerry’s with a _Friends_ rerun on in the background. And though they’re close enough in the familial sense that he can pretty much run full-force at Cas like a left tackle at the forty-yard marker for an intense and not to mention impactful hug, Dean keeps his distance for the moment, but still trying to keep him grounded with one hand on Cas’s knee.

Cas keeps his head angled to the ground, voice lower and raspier than usual, “I… I can’t. It’s not that easy.”

“Whadda you mean? Just say it with me: Fu—”

“I don’t _want_ to.”

“You don’t want to fuck her?” Dean scoffs, “Neither would I after she goddamn stands me up. Who does that?”

“Dean, just stop!” Cas yells to both Dean’s and the church’s vast and thankfully empty beige walls and pews. He jumps a little, his hand flying from Cas’s knee. Then he’s face-to-face with those eyes, like an overflowing ocean, crashing and staining the tanned shore beneath them, “I’m not in the mood for one of your tirades! It’s not a joke, alright? It’s my _life!_ It’s—!”

Cas looks like he wants to say more, but his words drown in his throat. His chest starts to quake even faster and he palms his eyes.

Dean lets him cry for a moment, he owes him that much. He has this thing he does where he uses humor to deflect the really bad situations—and this one is beyond bad. Then, he reaches out and tentatively lays his hand on Cas’s shoulder. When Cas leans into the embrace with his head on Dean’s shoulder, Dean draws him in tighter. They both stare ahead at the barren stage, Dean on the framed picture on top of the church piano. It’s of an aging man with short blonde hair, blue-ish gray eyes that give some light to the dark circles around them, and a strong jawline.

“I even put her father up there,” Cas says through a full nose, confirming that he too is looking at the same thing, “Meg said she was s-sad he wouldn’t be able to walk her down the aisle, so I w-went to Kinko’s, bought a f-frame and…” Dean rubs slow circles into Cas’s shoulder, careful not to damage the cup beneath the wool of his tux, even though he doubts the last thing on his mind is worrying about ruining a rental. “I don’t know, I guess I’m… maybe I’m not…”

“Okay, no,” Dean says, shifting so Cas has to lift his head from his shoulder to look at him, because he’s held his tongue long enough, “Don’t you dare put yourself down over someone who wears a leather jacket to a five-star restaurant.” Cas’s lips turn up a little ay that, pushing his stubble hairs up to make room for his mouth, and though it’s contagious, Dean straps his until he’s finished making his point: “ _She’s_ the one who’s not worth it. Cas, man, I’ve known you for almost nine years, have I left?”

“You, uh… you ditched me that one time at prom to talk to Cassie Robinson.”

Dean’s eyebrows play a little ventriloque as he finds his place again, but it’s hard when he’s thinking about that night in the women’s bathroom with Cassie Robinson. “Shut up, I’m trying to make a point here.”

Cas laughs for probably what’s the first time he’s heard him do tonight.

Dean tries not to get distracted on _that_ now as he rephrases, “Have I ever given up on you? No. You know why? Because I have no reason to. You’re thoughtful and funny and smart and whatever else comes with the Hallmark trademark.” _And_ he looks really good in his tux, but Dean keeps that one to himself because he’s not sure where that thought came from. "Not to mention, you were gonna get married. _Married._ I gotta tell you, man: That takes more courage than you think. You’re willing to put your heart on the line because you trust someone’s gonna let it keep walking the tightrope.”

Cas scoffs, “Yeah, look what a naïve son of a bitch I was.”

Dean sighs and turns away, mostly exasperated at himself that he can’t fix this. With his younger brother growing up, it’s always been a split knee or a paper cut. But this is something far bigger than what a Band-Aid can cover. Plus, it’s beyond his realm of help, because he can’t control the situation…

Or can he?

“Wait… Cas, what’re you gonna do about the honeymoon?”

“Shit,” Cas says, wide-eyed, “I didn’t even think about it. I mean, I can’t get a refund for the plane tickets or the hotel reservation. It’s well over the twenty-four hour policy—”

“No, no, that’s perfect!” Dean exclaims.

Cas tilts his head with a wary eye. “Why is that perfect?”

“Because, you and I can use it,” says Dean. “Think of it as a celebration of our-our friendship! C’mon, man, you can’t just throw it away like that. Besides, what better way to tell someone to fuck off than have a good time?”

Cas nods slowly. “Niagara would make for amazing Instagram posts.”

Dean shrugs, because that’s not quite where he’s hoping Cas’s enthusiasm would go, but, “Right. Yeah, see? You and me. It’ll be like a classic buddy cop film.”

“As long as I’m Tango,” Cas conditions.

“I wouldn’t trade being Cash for the world, buddy,” Dean agrees with a grin.

Cas’s nod becomes more confident, and his smile starts to widen despite the tears stained on his cheeks. “Alright. Okay, let’s do this.”

***

"Wait—uh, what?"

"The honeymoon suite," the lady at the front desk repeats carefully, "one bedroom, one bath, complete with room service, a complimentary couple's massage, and first access to the Early Bird breakfast."

Cas’s mouth flops like a sneaker with a busted sole. "Is it possible to upgrade to a two bedroom?"

Dean perks up at the mention of—"Did you say room service?"

“You two are together, right?” The lady stares between them, obviously just as confused.

Dean’s beside him, sharing the same shock, but not nearly as flushed. It’s not the first time they’ve been mistaken for a couple, but it usually never bothers Dean. Once, back in the States, after just moving to Sioux Falls with Cas and having not known the area (Cas moved with Dean after he was old enough to move down and work alongside his Uncle Bobby at his auto shop), Dean got a call from a bartender at a local roadhouse saying Cas—who, at the time, was heartbroken over having lost his father—was way too drunk to serve.

So, like any good friend, he drove down to the bar and ordered a honeymoon suite at a three-star hotel up the way. He slipped the guy at the front desk a twenty and told him to tell his staff not to disturb them no matter what, because Cas needed to sleep off everything that was coming full-force at him, and Dean needed to be there to watch him. Course, “watch him” had a whole different connotation in the slang pocket dictionary owned by the front desk guy, and Dean just grumbled and handed him another twenty, because Cas would and has done the same for Dean when he was drowning in himself.

Cas shoots a glance between he and Dean and laughs, "No, we—”

"Are more than together," Dean interrupts, drawing Cas by the waist. Cas grunts, but smiles as Dean continues to sell the bit: "We're soulmates. Two halves to one soul. Sometimes he'll say exactly what I'm thinking."

Dean bears the gaze of his weight on Cas's eyes, but Cas just rolls it off and says, "He's thinking how perfect that one bedroom is."

***

"Dude, this is perfect," Dean says, not even bothering with his bags to flop onto the bed. He sinks in almost instantly. Memory foam. The best.

Cas throws his bags on the bed beside Dean. "Good. Enjoy it now, cos you're sleeping on the couch."

Dean scoffs, but barely lifts his head from the bed because _memory foam pillows,_ "Excuse me? Whose idea was it to keep these reservations?"

"Whose reservations _are_ they to begin with?" Cas fires back, crossing his arms. "Need I remind you of the hell I've been put through in the last couple weeks?"

"Are you still thinking about that voicemail?"

Cas’s lips twitch. He turns his head to the floor, and Dean just shakes his head. "Cas, c'mon. She didn't even call to meet you somewhere to formally apologize. What you deserve is an explanation."

Cas looks back up, but not at directly at Dean as he says tersely, "We can switch out. I'll take the bed tonight, you take it tomorrow."

"Cas, I'm fine with sleeping in the same bed, alright? It's not like we haven't before."

"For the record, I didn't sleep with you.”

"You're right on that one,” Dean says, getting up from the bed. “You didn't sleep at _all_ —"

"Ugh, shut up," Cas says, throwing a pillow at him.

Dean catches it, and that’s when their eyes meet. He’s the first one to turn away though, because, "Well, I'm beat anyway, so I'll take the couch."

"You're sure?"

Dean looks back over to Cas, whose face is written with all sorts of apologies, whether for Meg or for him, Dean doesn’t know, but he knows for certain it’s not for himself. "Yeah, I'm good,” he says. “Night."

Cas musters a small smile. "Night."

 

 

Dean awakes to the sound of someone dragging their feet across the floor, but he’s too bleary eyed to see. Room service? Doubtful, it’s nearly three in the morning. Plus, that wouldn’t be very energetic service.

He pushes sleep to the corners of his eyes and pulls out his phone. He shines around the place, but doesn’t find anyone walking caveman-style around him. In fact, the noise is gone, but only for a moment, because when it starts up again, it’s a little bit louder and clearer and that’s when Dean detects it: Cas’s sniffling.

Dean pulls himself forward and starts walking towards the king bed. He can see Cas under the faint glow of the moonlight spilling through the curtains and onto his sheet-draped, curled up body. He’s shaking lightly beneath the covers, trying and failing to contain his sobs.

Dean crawls onto the bed, pulls the cover over, and sits on his knees. Then he reaches out with the gentleness of a feather floating through the sky before finding home on Cas’s shoulder, like the night of the wedding.

When Dean sees the redness clouding Cas’s eyes and the rain that’s soaking his cheeks is when Cas cranes his head to look at him. Dean tries not to put more pressure on Cas’s overcast eyes with his own green ones so they don’t shower his already wet face, but Cas doesn’t let Dean look at him long before he’s nodding and turning around. Dean scoots back to give Cas more room when he realizes he’s moving into him.

They’ve nothing between them but thin, respective t-shirts and a pair of pajama bottoms. Cas is damp but he smells like aftershave and vanilla body wash (which Dean’s always made fun of him for, for being a self-proclaimed “vanilla” kind of guy, because he swears by the stuff), and he makes his new pillow Dean’s chest, breathing in the last shaky sob for the night. Dean catches his breath too against the bedrest, having not realized he’s held his own for quite some time, and wraps his arms around him.

Neither of them moves until morning calls in the form of room service.

**

“So, a full-body message consists of… what, exactly?”

“Dean, they’re not going to touch your penis,” Cas laughs.

Dean shivers and points at him across the room. “Don’t—don’t say that.”

“Say what?” Cas tests, lips curving into a smile. “Penis?”

He starts ridding himself of his shirt, and wow, okay, they’re definitely getting naked right now, this is new territory, and his biceps are like two perfectly scooped macadamia ice creams—wait, when did that happen? Weren’t they just at an Early Bird Breakfast (that consisted of cherry pie _and_ mini sausages, thank you very much), _fully clothed?_

“Dude, just… no,” Dean says, having difficulty focusing on arguing when he sees Cas reach for his belt buckle. “It sounds wrong.”

Cas scoffs, pausing in his undressing to retort, “This coming from the guy who puts the _rude_ in crude! What were your exact words, ‘fuck her’?”

“Listen, ‘fuck’ can be used interchangeably, and it’s looser, more casual,” Dean explains, “penis is so… final.”

“Jesus, Dean, having a dick isn’t a death sentence,” Cas chuckles before he pulls down his pants.

Dean swallows thickly. God, why is he acting like such a prude? This honeymoon is getting to his head.

And it’s certainly getting to Cas’s, too. It’s barely noticeable beneath his briefs, but it’s there.

 ** _What the fuck?_** Where did _that_ come from??

“I, uh… I should probably…” Dean says stupidly as he fumbles with his shirt. Once he’s down to his boxers (thank God he didn’t wear those pair of pink satiny panties he “borrowed” from Rhonda Hurley), he says, looping his thumbs into the waistband, “Well, here goes nothing—”

“Dean, you don’t have to—!”

Before either of them can do anything, there’s two knocks on the door and in enters the massage therapists. Dean sucks in a breath, and Cas turns his head to the ceiling as he shakes his head.

“Well, well, aren’t you an eager one!” the first lady, a petite blonde woman with a true Canadian accent, exclaims with a wide grin. The woman next to her has a good few inches on her with pixie cut brown hair and wide but unimpressed eyes. “I’m Donna; this is my partner, Jody. We’re here for the couple’s massage.”

“I’ll take Pee Wee’s husband if you take Pee Wee,” Jody says to Donna, again, unimpressed.

 

It actually turns out to be a great massage, despite the color that doesn’t leave Cas’s face until the next day.

**

Dean’s never understood it. It’s a giant waterfall overlooking the city. Literally all it does is pound out water by the second. And being pelted by gallons of warm water on a moving ferry with only a pale blue tarp to protect you is not the way to swoon someone. Go to SeaWorld, or better yet, just hop in the shower. 

But now is different, because now he understands. He’s on the exact ferry, wearing the same tarp and anticipating the plume of diamonds to embrace him. The sun’s overlooking the drop just right, shining through the curtains of water. The smell and taste of everything is fresh. It’s far from quiet with all of the water, but still brings a sense of peace quite literally washing over him as he and a few other people on the boat get rained on a little.

Cas is next to him, leaning over the railing, head angled up at the Fall, the afternoon sun tinting his lightly damp hair. His are alight with joy, which Dean’s never been able to put a color to until he sees the water reflect in them. His mouth is parted in awe, but Dean’s more focused on the single drop of water that’s cascading down the side of his face. Its fall is slow and steady, capturing the sight like Dean is.

“Jesse,” a deep Mexican accent says to the right of them, slicing through Dean’s thoughts, “will you marry me?”

Both Dean and Cas turn their head in tandem to witness, Jesse, who’s just as built as his partner, exclaim a surprised, but enthusiastic yes before they’re kissing. The people on the boat clap and whistle before another wave rocks the boat, but even then, the couple keep holding each other.

“Wow,” Cas laughs, “two shows in one. How about that?”

Dean turns back to Cas, and can’t help but agree, “Yeah. How ‘bout that.”

***

It’s official. They’ve seen every lake, mountain, and park there is to offer in Ontario, and he and _Cas_ aren’t even official. (Not to mention, they’ve tried every entrée and dessert on the hotel menu, and it sounds nuts, but trust Dean: You haven’t lived until you’ve scarfed down a bowl of chocolate bread putting in the comfort of your room.)

But alas, all good things must come to an end, which brings them here, packing for their flight that leaves tomorrow morning at eight o’clock (which, since Canada is an hour later than South Dakota time, makes Dean feel more punctual than he actually is, so that’s another plus he’s taken from the great maple country).

Cas hasn’t said much since he started packing a half hour or so ago, but that’s okay. Dean’s just glad he can be there for him, whenever he decides to grieve.

But it’s not to mistake his noiselessness for the weeks previous. Cas has grown quieter because he seems more relaxed, more content. Dean likes to think he’s played a role in the lightness of his shoulders, or the looseness in his joints overall—particularly when he cranes his head to Dean after about another ten or fifteen minutes of packing, a smile present on his face.

If anything, Dean would be honored to take credit for Cas simply exposing all his teeth and gums at him.

“What?” Dean asks, laughing a little, mostly to try and dispel the forming blush on his forehead and cheeks.

Cas shakes his head, his smile not falling, “Nothing, I just… I thought of the massage again, and—”

“Oh, get out!” Dean exclaims, slapping him lightly with a shirt he’s yet to fold.

“I tipped those women a twenty, just so you know,” Cas says, “for the trauma they had to endure.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but can’t help but smile a little, too. Then they’re doing that thing where they stare at each other like they’re Mr. Potato Heads and they’re trying to memorize the other’s features so they know how to reassemble one another again, and honestly, if that doesn’t describe their relationship to a tee. They’re always reassembling each other when someone or something comes along and rearranges the pieces, because no one knows them like they know each other.

Dean’s the first to break away, turning back to packing. That’s when his eyes catch on something in his suitcase, and he grins mischievously, because he knows he can use it to his advantage. He pulls out the object and holds it in front of Cas. “Cas. Really? It’s one thing to pack satiny pink underwear, but it’s a totally different thing to put them in another guy’s suitcase to pretend like they’re his. That’s just—”

Before Dean can finish his sabotage, he sees Cas rush towards him in one shift motion. Dean sucks in a sharp breath, but gains strength from Cas’s warm, chaste kiss he plants on him and breathes back into him before he pulls away. “I… um… what was—?”

“Thank you,” Cas interrupts, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth to keep from grinning.

“For… putting you on the spot with the panties?” Dean says unthinkingly, to which Cas laughs.

“Dean, I know they’re yours. Everyone in Sioux Falls knows. Rhonda Hurley has quite the reputation.” He pauses, expression softening to clarify, “Thank you for just… everything. For sticking by me, convincing me to go on this trip, the whole lot. You made for an amazing best man.”

Dean tilts his head, which isn’t hard to do since it’s still spinning from the kiss. “Made?”

“Made, as in maybe one day, you’ll be up on stage as a groom.”

Cas doesn’t have to say it, but Dean knows what he means to say is _his_ groom, and that’s enough for him to surge forward in the same fashion, kissing Cas back with all he has. “I love you, too,” he says against Cas’s smiling lips, “and whenever you’re ready, just know that the answer is yes, _I do._ ”

 


End file.
